


rigor samsa

by emeryboard (sonicraptors)



Category: Bandom, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alcohol, Anxiety, Eating Disorders, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 00:41:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7553563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonicraptors/pseuds/emeryboard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i> rigor samsa</i><br/>n. a kind of psychological exoskeleton that can protect you from pain and contain your anxieties, but always ends up cracking under pressure or hollowed out by time—and will keep growing back again and again, until you develop a more sophisticated emotional structure, held up by a strong and flexible spine, built less like a fortress than a cluster of treehouses.<i></i></p>
            </blockquote>





	rigor samsa

**Author's Note:**

> my first attempt at fic writing in a whole damn year. yikes.
> 
> unbeta-ed, since i just want to see how this first part plays out.

 

Life is great when you’re 16--when you only have to worry about the here and now. It’s a diluted sense of maturity. You’re too old for naps and toys yet too young to fuss over employment. “Dating” is an interesting yet intimidating concept, but the new car your friend’s parents bought them for their birthday is way cooler.

 

He spends his free time in his own corner of the garage that smells like paint. Heavily of paint. The scent of which wafts towards the kitchen (much to the dismay of his parents, who suggested he relocate to the garage to rid the house of the paint smell in the first place). He calls it “his studio”, but in actuality, it is a few large planks of wood hammered into the wall with a few leftover nails from his father’s failed “bookshelf project”. To any onlooker, it’s shabby and a bit underdone.

 

Josh loves it. And Tyler, likewise.

 

A boy who moved a few blocks down and who Josh probably would have never met had it not been for the chance situation where the church his family frequented was down for fumigation, forcing the entire congregation to move to a partnered chapel across town. Both Josh and Tyler were sent into a youth group room due to overflow. Their first meeting was brief, uneventful. A few months, they began to spend the entire hour and a half telling dirty jokes--their faces hidden behind ebony Bibles, their laughter indistinguishable amidst hymnals.

 

Tyler is a grade below Josh, (“It’s stupid,” he’d remark in a defeated tone whenever it was brought up. “And why, just because I was born a little later? I’m twice as smart as any sophomore. Especially you.” He’d gesture towards Josh, who would flick paint towards his hair) but despite incessant taunting from his peers, Josh found better and more genuine company in him.

 

Not that he enjoys much popularity in school anyway, the fact of which made Tyler all the more special to him. His passion for art and complete disinterest in anything that wasn’t art set him apart significantly from his schoolmates.

 

Tyler is the first person he’d ever had a conversation with that didn’t consist of the word “faggot” nor ended with a shove into a wall.

 

Tyler is the one who suggested they skip lunch and courtyard, away from the pressure and embarrassment of standing out.

 

Josh couldn’t think of a better way to spend his time than smashing mounds of clay in the back of a dark classroom.

 

Tyler finds Josh to be different—”eccentric”, in Josh’s words.

 

Josh finds Tyler to be loud, if a bit obnoxious.

 

Tyler thinks Josh is a great listener, though he isn’t one for interaction in the first place. He gets irritated very easily, sometimes for no reason at all. There are days where he completely shuts Tyler out, and he doesn’t like this much.

 

Josh was very uneasy of Tyler when they’d first met. He had seen him around at their school, amongst a group of people he does not care much for—tersely dubbed his “tormentors” (though time and time again, Tyler insists that they are not his friends). When Tyler had first approached him, he was positive it was because he had recognized him from the rumors, and even after it was hard to put his trust in Tyler.

 

But once Josh did, Tyler soon became his sole confidante.

 

He knows about the illnesses. The anxiety, the depression.

 

He knows about the attempts. Weeks in the hospital. Medicines and follow-up therapy that he loathed.

 

He knows about Josh’s grandmother, who introduced him to painting as a way of alternative therapy. He knows that before himself, she’s the only person who listened to Josh.

 

Tyler lets him in on a few secrets of his own.

 

Josh knows of Tyler’s struggles with his sexuality.

 

He knows about his nagging insecurities. The eating disorders.

 

He knows that Tyler had taken up basketball as a means to distract himself from himself.

 

Soon, Josh began inviting Tyler over frequently, to the point where it became acceptable for him to just show up. He’d demonstrate a new trick on the hoop Josh’s father set up but he never uses. Josh would teach him how to blend watercolors. Tyler would allow him to listen to rough drafts of songs he never planned on doing much with. Josh would encourage him to do more.

 

He was welcome into Josh’s garage studio, a privilege given to few. One, to be exact.

 

And it was like that, the evening in which Tyler sat and observed Josh quietly in the studio, a comfortable silence accompanied only by the radio on in the background.

 

“What are you doing Friday?” Tyler inquires, rolling a paintbrush around his palms.

 

Josh nods towards his lap, where he’d been scratching away silently at his sketch pad. It’s hard to get a definite and vocal answer out of him once he began working.

 

“Well,” Tyler set the brush down, his focus immediately setting upon the stray denim strands from the holes in his jeans, “I have a basketball game. My brother’s bailing--says he’s been to enough. It’s a big one...a lot is riding on it. I need all the support I can get— we all do. Anyway, it’d be cool if you could come.”

 

A few more seconds of silence lapses between the two before Josh finally looks up from the pad. “I’ll be there, then.” A brief response, and just as quickly, he continues drawing.

 

“Promise?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“I don’t believe you. Swear on something. Anything.”

 

Josh sighs, his eyes scanning the room. Finally, he gestured towards the wall, where I portrait of an unknown woman hung, a piece he treasured thought Tyler didn’t know why. “I swear on that.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

-

 

_One. Two. Three. Four. Five._

 

_He struggles to catch his breath before he felt another kick into his side. Six._

 

_That was gonna bruise like a bitch. He groans._

 

 _“What? Calling out to your_ boyfriend _.”_

 

_“He’s not my boyfriend.” his voice is shaky and comes out no louder than a whisper._

 

_Seven._

 

_He feels a hand tug at his hair, his head suspends in the air for half a second before his cheek once again meets the cool linoleum floor._

 

_Should he count this one? Eight._

 

_“You’re selfish, you know that, Dun? You’re only bringing him down with you. We can’t guide him correctly if you’re going to go and ruin him.”_

 

 _Nine. A wave of nausea overcomes Josh, and he’s certain that if he doesn’t get to a toilet soon,_ he’s _gonna end up on somebody’s shoe._

 

_“But I mean, if you don’t wanna listen then go right ahead. Keep talking to him. But when he ends up just like you, pathetic and practically licking dirt off the ground, don’t say we didn’t warn you.”_

 

_This gets to Josh, who gradually props himself up on aching forearms to face them._

 

_“Don’t. Hurt. Him.”_

 

_They laugh, walking away._

 

_Josh leans himself up against a wall, silently hoping someone would turn the corner and discover him, but knowing he wouldn’t know how to explain himself if they did. At least, not with anything he hasn’t said before._

 

Selfish. Tyler.

 

_He could feel the blood slowly trickle from the wounds on his cheek, creeping into the corners of his mouth. It’s salty. He retches._

 

Selfish _._

 

_Maybe he was. Tyler seemingly has a lot going for him. He was a lot better than Josh could ever be._

 

Selfish. Undeserving. Tyler.

 

 _A text message shows up on his phone screen. Tyler wants to know where he is. They were supposed to meet at a park so they could walk together to his game. He couldn’t show up like this. He couldn’t show up anywhere_ near _him like this._

 

_He ignores it. Grabs his bag and walks home._

 

_How selfish._

 

-

 

Tyler’s hand fiddles with his phone, flipping it every so often to check for a text from Josh confirming his attendance, growing increasingly restless with every passing moment.

 

He knows how strongly Josh detested sports, he could tell by the way his face contorts when his father invites him out to bat in the yard.

 

Or the bitterness in his voice when Tyler excuses himself from their daily “studio” meetings to play basketball on the street.

 

It’s dangerous to get his hopes up, but Josh said he would, so he _had_ to.

 

“5 minutes, boys! Warm-ups end in 2.” The sound of his coach’s voice, followed by the unceremonious slamming of the weight room door, breaks Tyler out of his deep thought. He takes a final glance at the dim LED screen, blue text sprawled across the top signifying the disappointing lack of new messages, before stuffing it at the bottom of his bag.

 

_You’re being irrational, Tyler._

 

He lingers behind the rest of his team as they shuffle towards the gymnasium.

 

_Why are you so concerned? He’s in there, sitting with your parents, like he promised._

 

The door is open and the crowd’s cheering becomes intense, overwhelming. Tyler listens carefully for the sound of Josh.

 

_And even if he didn’t come...what does it matter to you?_

 

It matters a lot to him.

 

_He’s in there._

 

Except he isn’t.

 

At first, it feels like a punch to the stomach, then the pain rapidly spreads to his chest. He can’t believe it, but at the same time, it is all too predictable. This was typical Josh--too engaged in his own activities to pay any mind to those around him. As the two teams take their positions on the court, Tyler stands on the sidelines to search the crowd. He spots his mother and father, equipped with banners and noisemakers as always. Zack has even come, though his CD player seems to be his top priority. His mind races with possible scenarios, excuses to justify what was a clear-cut case of Josh just...not caring. He had probably locked himself up in the damned garage, his radio blasting (mother-approved) Christian rock as he arranges and rearranges his supplies like he does every weekend--a task Tyler would much rather do quite anything than watch, but _he_ still makes the time for.

 

A hand grabs him towards the game and the whistle blows.

 

-

 

Sweat clouds his vision as he pedals down the street. Or is it tears? Of anger, if anything. Disappointment.

 

He recalls the conversation he’d had with his mother before he abruptly stood to leave the dining table.

 

“He wasn’t there, he said he’d come and he lied. To my face.” He repeatedly poked a lone broccoli stalk with the tines of his fork.

 

“Sweetheart,” she slides more mashed potatoes onto his plate. “Maybe something came up.”

 

“You don’t understand! Josh, he- he-” His mother opens her mouth to reason with him, but he feels that anything else would just fuel his anger. He shoves the plate aside and the chair out, dashing towards the door.

 

He’d been trying to contact Josh since the time he’d arrived home from the game. Tyler is so familiar with his voicemail, he could hear Josh’s voice with the rusty pattering of his bike chains.

 

 _It’s Josh. I’m not here right now, obviously. You don’t have to leave a message, but I’ll make sure to call you back._ (A lie, as Tyler had been directly told. Josh almost never returns calls.)

 

Betrayal. Enmity. The sweat-tears start back up again.

 

He doesn’t bother stopping the bike when he reaches Josh’s driveway. He doesn’t bother picking it up when it skids across the grass and stops dangerously close to a flower bed.

 

He knocks on the door, using the few seconds he had before it opened to hastily fix himself up.

 

“Tyler-”

 

“Is Josh home?”

 

The promptness of Tyler’s question takes her aback, but she widens the door to allow him through. “He’s in the garage.” A tone that indicates her awareness of the redundancy. Tyler already knows where he is.

 

Despite the Ohio spring warmth, the garage is damp and cold.

 

As expected, Josh is situated among a pile of canvas and supplies. He doesn’t even turn to see who’s entered, not that Tyler has been all that quiet up until now.

 

“Where were you?” Tyler tried to keep his voice steady, but his frustration grew with every pencil Josh set in a cup instead of answering his question.

 

He wondered if Josh was having one of his “mood swings” again, and he knew better than to provoke him during times like this. However, he wanted--needed answers, and he wasn’t going to let Josh snide his way out of discussion this time.

 

“I asked, where were you?”

 

“I heard you. And I think that question is stupid. I was at home, where _else_ would I be.”

 

“I don’t know! Maybe my _game?!”_ Tyler’s voice was rising and he could sense the tension that sharpened Josh’s stance.

 

“Oh,” He mumbled. “Was that today?”

 

“I knew something like this would happen but God, Josh, I wanted to think I was lying. Just being paranoid. But you really are as selfish as I thought.”

 

The word sent trembles down Josh’s back.

 

Tyler could feel his cheeks burn. The sweat-tears. Hurt. Hurt. _Hurt._

 

He wasn’t thinking. He ripped the cup from Josh’s hand.

 

“Could you at least look at me?!”

 

So Josh did. He turned. He heard the cup drop, followed by a short but very audible gasp, the sound of which annoyed him. Josh hadn’t even tried cleaning himself; he wanted to escape his parents’ questioning as quickly as he could.

 

“What happened?” Tyler’s voice loses its strength. He sounds as if he was trying to convince himself that he wasn’t looking at a heavily bruised Josh. He can sense pity in his voice. It left a sour taste in Josh’s mouth.

 

“I’m fine.” He mutters, bending to pick up the fallen pencils.

 

_Don’t touch me._

 

“What happened…” Much quieter this time.

 

“Just leave, huh? I want you here just as much as you want to be here.”

 

“Not until you tell me what the _hell-”_

 

Josh snapped. “You already know what happened! You already know and don’t you dare try and play dumb with me. As if it isn’t obvious. As if it isn’t obvious to _everyone._ ” He bit his lip, the taste of blood once again entering his mouth. He felt nauseous again.

 

For Tyler, the sweat-tears return at full force. No, not sweat this time. He is certain that these were tears. Of confusion, of sympathy— he doesn’t know. What he does know, however, is how long he had spent thinking Josh had been the one to bail on him. No. He wasn’t there when Josh suffered through Lord knows what pain. He was in the wrong.

 

Josh backs away slowly, the bruises covering his temple unfailing to give away the immense expression in his eyes. The damage. Emotions ran rampant throughout his mind.

 

“They told me they would hurt you if they found me with you again.”

 

“Josh-”

 

“And you think I’m selfish as well but that’s fine because I was trying to save you and I guess it worked.”

 

“Josh, I’m sorry, I don’t-”

 

“Please leave.”

 

_Please, please leave._

 

Tyler stands just outside the studio, speechless but unmoving. Josh knows he isn’t going to go until they talk, but that is the one thing he isn’t willing to do. Not right now. He grabs a pair of scissors and tosses them blindly towards the wall where the portrait of the unknown woman hung.

 

The impact frightens Tyler. He backs away to the garage entrance slowly.

 

_Please don’t be afraid of me._

 

“I swore on it, didn’t I? Couldn’t keep my promise.”

 

Footsteps, and then a pause. The garage door creaks open. “We can talk about this tomorrow morning.” It closes.

 

-

 

But “tomorrow morning” never happens. Weeks pass, and despite several desperate attempts to make amends, he isn’t allowed to see Josh. Rather, Josh doesn’t allow himself to _be_ seen. His teammates, Josh’s “tormentors”, they behave much differently around him. They know what he’s thinking about and they try to engage his thoughts to direct him away from Josh.

 

He turns down every invitation. Partying had never been something he was interested in, and he doesn’t plan on starting any time soon. He can’t even imagine having fun when his best friend is hurting and it’s all his fault. His fault.

 

“You think I’m selfish too…” he’d said.

 

 _I don’t._ Tyler wanted to yell. _I could never. I admire you too much to think that lowly of you._

 

But he had.

 

The only person he could open up to.

 

He failed Josh, and Josh wanted nothing to do with him.

 

He dropped basketball, deciding that he wanted to focus on music. It was, of course, met with much disapproval from his parents--who had several sports scholarships lined up and ready for him. But Tyler knows what is best for him, he just doesn’t know how far he’d go without Josh’s encouragement, or general company.

 

His song recorder is full of melancholy drafts; songs about missing Josh, songs about giving up to start again, it becomes sort of a personal diary. Yet, the only person he’d ever want to hear the entries was Josh, and he wants nothing to do with him.

 

Two months pass. Josh hasn’t shown up for school since that Friday.

 

The principal ignores him when he asks to know something, anything about Josh.

 

His parents just shake their head solemnly, supplying nothing but bullshit answers to sate his curiosity.

 

“He’s fine.”

 

“He’s safe.”

 

Tyler couldn’t be sure until he sees him. But Josh won’t allow him, because Josh wants nothing to do with him.

 

Now, there’s a small trailer outside of Josh’s driveway. He can see Josh. For the first time in two months. He’s carrying a bed into the trailer, and disappears back into the house. Tyler abandons his bike in the street and runs towards the house.

 

Josh.

 

Josh.

 

_Josh._

 

His mind is screaming but he can’t make any external sounds.

 

For the first time in two months, for what felt like decades.

 

Josh’s mother spots him when he reached the lawn, a look of sympathy deeply set within her eyes. Josh follows closely behind.

 

He looks away.

 

“What’s going on? What is he doing?” Tyler directs the question to his mother, words coming out hoarse between deep breaths.

 

She smiles softly, “I’m so sorry, Tyler. We meant to tell you sooner but we just didn’t know when. School has...school has been hell for him lately. He’s going to live with his grandparents.”

 

He stops. Time stops. There’s a growing pain in his chest as he begins to register the situation thoroughly. The moving trailer. Josh’s two month long absence. Teachers had just stopped asking about him a week in, and he’d assumed it was because they’d given up on him.

 

Josh is _leaving_ him.

 

He turns towards his friend, who had just finished loading up a chest and a stack of canvas. He notices a difference in his demeanor. Less awareness. Josh, as awkward as he is, always tended to carry himself with a little urgency. He was so _different_. Subdued.

 

“It’s not your fault. He wanted me to make this clear to you.”

 

Tyler sits up, “Did he really? Then why can’t he tell me himself?”

 

“He’s just not…” her voice trails off, but he knew, and he understood.

 

Josh is just not ready.

 

Josh wants nothing to do with him.

 

The sweat-tears. Salty. Confusion.

 

He heads back home.

 

-

 

_“It’s just a bunch of humming.”_

 

_“Well yeah…I haven’t come up with any lyrics yet…”_

 

_“Oh.”_

 

_“One step at a time.”_

 

_“I understand.”_

 

_Tyler laughs._

 

_“Play it again.”_

 

_The studio is once again full of Tyler’s voice, humming an impromptu tune he’d come up with on the way to school. Josh closes his eyes and taps his foot._

 

_After a minute, the tape cuts off._

 

_“I really want you to keep doing this.”_

 

_“Doing what?” Tyler puts the recorder back in this bag._

 

_“This. Making music and playing it for me. Keep going.” Josh adjusts himself, turning to face Tyler. The two boys lay huddled underneath a heap of blankets Josh brought out from the guest bedroom, the frigid January air still teasing their nerves._

 

_“Yeah, well it’s really just a hobby.”_

 

_“So?” Josh shrugs, yawning._

 

_“Somebody’s tired.” Tyler chuckles._

 

_“I can’t sleep, though.”_

 

_“How about a story?”_

 

_Silence._

 

_“Once upon a time-”_

 

“Ew. _Tyler, I’m 16.”_

 

_“Shut up. Anyway, there was a boy and he was destined for greatness. Or so his parents said. They’d wanted him to follow in their footsteps, and become a great athlete and dutiful son. This wasn’t all that exciting to him but he didn’t really have any plans for himself so he went with it. He played basketball, and it began as sort of a weekend activity. His parents were disappointed but they knew they couldn’t force anything on him. One day, after seeing the love of his life, or 7th grade equivalent of, ditch him at the school dance for one of his muscular, attractive teammates, the boy soon realized how incompetent he really was.”_

 

_“I think you’re plenty competent.” Josh mumbled sleepily._

 

_“This isn’t about me.”_

 

_“Alright.”_

_“As I was saying, he fussed day and night over his appearance. He wouldn’t let himself skip a day at the gym nor would he allow himself to eat anything that wasn’t calorie-free or practically 100% protein. Eventually, the thought of eating altogether made him vomit, and it wasn’t long before his parents took notice of the boy, a shell of his former self. They blamed themselves and that made the boy feel worse. He didn’t want them, anybody, to pity him. So he sought out to recover. Therapy. Antidepressants. He found that the only way to heal himself was to distract himself. And he did. With basketball. He didn’t even like playing it, but it proved to be enough. Then he met another boy. This boy lived how he wanted, and he was just as troubled. This boy made him feel comfortable and he was more than enough. He’s very proud to know this boy, and hopes the boy is proud of him as well.”_

 

_Josh had already fallen asleep, snoring lightly at Tyler’s side_

 

_“The end.”_

  


**Author's Note:**

> criticism is welcome and _much_ needed. thank you for reading! i'll try to update as soon as possible.


End file.
